A ship rocked south to imitate poetry.

Father is a small boat, carrying our warmth and dreams. In stormy weather, we rowed away the hardships of the years. Father is an ox cart, carrying our childhood and youth. On the long road of life, hard poems are opened step by step. Father is a history, humiliation and glory are engraved in wrinkles, hardships and sweetness are hidden in white hair, and calloused hands hold up a brilliant tomorrow.

Father Jia Yanchun, who taught in the countryside all his life, retired in Dihua, Danfeng County; Gastric cancer recurred at the beginning of the year, and after seven months, I was bedridden, hungry, painful and hungry. I was in pain until the night of the 26th, and suddenly I died laughing. At that time, the Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching and it rained heavily. I'm still 400 miles away, and I'm going back the next day.

I didn't expect my father to leave so soon at last. In the past, I had a feeling about what happened at home. On the day he came to Xi 'an for physical examination, I got up early in the morning, and my eyes were red and swollen for no reason. When he came in the afternoon, I immediately felt sad. After examination, the cancer had metastasized and my father was sent away half a month later. Every day, my heart is twisted into a ball, but I have been divining for him. Divination is quite auspicious, and I doubt that he will work miracles. So I received a critically ill telegram, thinking that it was my father's intention and wanted to explain many things to me.